


Indices

by placentalmammal



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2018-11-30 13:49:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 5,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11464884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/placentalmammal/pseuds/placentalmammal
Summary: A collection of Twitter prompts. Summaries/prompts in the notes section of the first chapter. Untagged spoilers across all seasons, proceed with caution.





	1. Woof (gen feat. Dog Samot)

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. "the proper care and feeding of dog samot"  
> 2\. "victoria solomon and gloria lake recuperate after a mission"  
> 3\. Tender Sky/Fourteen Fifteen/...Signet...  
> 4\. "Sige maintains his Lance gear"  
> 5\. "Hadrian/Ephrim OR something about Adaire and her goose"  
> 6\. "hella and adaire pulling a Scheme and being gay"  
> 7\. **Cass/Mako for Mercutioes, NSFW**  
>  8\. **Jamil/Jace/Addax for Kavi, NSFW**  
>  9\. **Throndir/Hadrian, NSFW**  
>  10\. Even/Echo for keesh!  
> 11\. Mad Max: Fury Road crossover, Hella/Adaire  
> 12\. Aria/Jacqui, sparring  
> 13\. Hella reminiscing about Ordennan food, gen  
> 14\. Adaire meets Adelaide, gen  
> 15\. **Throndir/Fero, NSFW**

"Now hold on," says Lem, setting his fork down beside his plate. "Is Samot _literally_ a dog? I had assumed that was a metaphor."

Samol laughs and dumps another serving of greens onto Lem's plate. He's an attentive host, but he treats them all more like recalcitrant children rather than honored guests. His hospitality is stifling.

"When you're the author of history, there's no such thing as metaphor," says Samol. "It's all true, all exactly how it happened. I should know, I was there."

"But how can a dog lead an army? Or build a university?"

"Very carefully." Samol takes the water pitcher from the center of the table and refills everyone's glasses, humming as he does so. His guitar is propped on its own chair in the corner of the room, sadly neglected while they eat. "Now, if you're done with questions--"

"I'm not," says Lem, looking around the table for support. "Please tell me I'm not the only one with more questions."

Nobody speaks. Hadrian has his head in his hands, Hella is shoveling food into her mouth, Adaire is examining the silverware with a critical eye. None of them will meet his eyes.

"Well," says Lem huffily, " _I_ have loads of questions. Was Samot always a dog? Can dogs even drink wine? Is he _really_ your son? Was he married to Samothes?"

Samol shakes his head and rises from the table, gathering up the dishes. He gives Adaire a look and she slowly returns the silver candlestick to the center of the table. He wanders from the dining room into the kitchen, still humming under his breath. Lem gets up and trails after him, volleying questions at his turned back.

When they're both gone, Hella chews, swallows, and sets her fork down for the first time since Samol set her first plate in front of her. She turns to Hadrian and says, "did Samothes fuck a dog?"


	2. vampire cop gfs (Victoria/Gloria)

It's a relief to be out of Rosemerrow after so long in confinement. They hire horses at a little no-name farm on the north side of town and ride until the city disappears behind them and the horses' sleek flanks are speckled with white foam. They dismount and Victoria takes both reins in hands, walking the horses in circles until their breathing slows. It'd be easier just to use her powers on them, to drain just enough of their energy to render them docile and slow. Victoria prefers doing things the old-fashioned way.

When the horses have gentled, Victoria stakes them by a slow-moving stream and crawls into the tent beside Gloria. The other woman is already half asleep, dozing with her books spread out in a semi-circle all around her. Victoria slides in beside her and noses in under her jaw, lips brushing across Gloria's still pulse.

She startles awake and smiles drowsily at Victoria. "How're the horses?" she mumbles, slipping her arms around Victoria's waist and leaning into her.

"Horses are fine," says Victoria, threading her fingers through Gloria's hair. "Finally starting to ease up a bit."

"That's good." Gloria tips her head up and steals a kiss, then pillows her head on Victoria's shoulder. "Takes a lot longer, usually."

Victoria hums in agreement and presses her lips against Gloria's forehead. They're too tired, both of them, to do anything more than kiss before they drop off to sleep. Gloria's hand finds its way into Victoria's, and they sit like that a moment, arms draped around one another.

After a moment, Gloria sighs. "Throndir should've come with us."

"He shouldn't've," says Victoria. "That boy's exactly where he needs to be."

"Then we should've gone with him. He needs mentoring. You remember how it was, at first."

She does. A new sense, and with it, a whole host of overwhelming sensations. She remembers laying in bed, sick with hunger, her body wracked with chills. It was weeks before the fever went down, months before she could trust herself around living things, _years_ before she'd fully mastered herself. The shock of undeath followed her for years.

Victoria grunts. "He's got the dog. He'll be fine."

"Heartless," says Gloria. She rolls onto her side and sinks down, head in Victoria's lap. "So mean."

Smiling, Victoria combs her fingers through the other woman's hair, massaging her scalp. "It comes with the territory. Golden Lance, baby."

"Should've told the kid."

"He'll manage," says Victoria. "We did."

Gloria smiles up at her through her lashes. "And _we_ didn't even have dogs." Laughing, Victoria reaches down to kiss her, hair falling all around them.


	3. beloved ot3 (Fourteen/Tender/...Signet...)

Fourteen wakes up in a new body, gets unsteadily to their feet, and staggers to the bathroom. The door clicks behind them and Tender stands outside it, tapping on the synthetic wood. It's always like this, after a download. There's a period of adjustment to a new body, a few hours or days of system shock while they learn the ins and outs of a new nervous system.

From inside the bathroom, the sounds of retching. Tender leans against the door. "You okay in there? How's that new endocrine system working out for ya?"

A groan of sheer, unadulterated misery and then a string of curses. "Fuck you, Tender."

She snickers. "Not until you've stopped puking," she says, trying to keep her tone light. "Let me know when you've got all your limbs in order."

⸢Signet⸣'s voice emanates from somewhere in the apartment, languid on the evening breeze. "Leave them alone, Ten," she calls. "For once in your life, just be decent." She wanders out of the kitchen with a bottle of tonic water. "You need anything?" she says, nudging Tender out of the way. "I've got tonic, if you need something to settle your stomach."

They groan piteously, which ⸢Signet⸣ takes as a 'no.' She sets the bottle down next to the door and tugs Tender away from the door, toward the living room. "Leave them," she murmurs. "They'll be fine."

Tender heaves a sigh, the tips of her ears twitching. "I worry," she says, under her breath. "You know? Every time they make the jump, I worry we'll lose them."

⸢Signet⸣ takes her hand and squeezes. Tender leans in to kiss her, arms going around her waist. "All we can do is take care of them until then. Keep them comfortable."

 _A home to die in_ , Tender thinks but does not say.


	4. sige being sad (gen, post-Marielda)

It feels very strange, having a workshop with no one else in it. It's just Sige and his workbench, his tools hung neatly on the pegboard. Even when he had his boat out in Quince, he had company--memories of his mother and father, dreams of leaving the island. Here, in the well-appointed rooms assigned to him by the Golden Lance, it's just him. The former Sige Coleburn, the current Lance Noble Helianthus.

It suits him. That's the hell of it. It's more than the coat and more than the gun, it's about justice. It's about doing the right thing. It's about redeeming the city, one day at a time. The Pala-Din are gone, and the Golden Lance keeps order alone, unaided by Samot. He is an inattentive god, too busy working on his own projects to worry about the people living in the City of First Light.

Sige hears from Aubrey, periodically. She is deliriously happy as Samot's artificer mundane, finally in her element. She writes infrequent letters, laden with hyperbole and jargon. If she's happy, Sige is happy for her.

The Hitchcocks are gone; Sige doesn't know where to. The dueling school is still operating out of Orchid Parish, taken over by Fair-Play and Miss Salary. They're still running all the old schemes, subtly and more successfully than the Six ever did. Whenever they cross paths at society parties, they ply him with champagne and envelopes full of cash. Sige keeps the booze and returns the money. He's not one for bribes, but he'll make a partial exception for the girls. For Hitchcocks' sake, if not theirs.

He doesn't see Castille again. He's not sure he wants to.

Sighing, he turns his gun over in his hands, examines the casing and checks the firing mechanism. It's all in perfect working order, nothing to be buffed or honed or maintained. Nothing to occupy his hand or mind, keep him occupied.

After a moment's hesitation, he takes his coat down from the hook by the door and sets his gun on his shoulder. He lights a cigarette with steady hands and sets out alone, wandering the streets of Hell's Parish until he finds someone having a worse night than he is.


	5. party on, hadrian. party on, ephrim (Hadrian/Ephrim)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hadrian/Ephrim OR something about Adaire and her goose"

It is a comfort to know, that even when his limited social graces fail him, Hadrian can fall back on ritual and ceremony. This is not his party, he isn't required to be witty or charming. He just has to be present, to fix a frown on his face and stand at Ephrim's side and loom over the other guests. And he's had plenty of opportunity to exercise his glower in the last few months, traveling with Hella and Adaire and Adaire's damnable goose.

(Adaire swears up and down that she hasn't trained the bird to attack, but the last time it bit him, she gave it toasted bread and watercress, he _saw_ her.)

Beside him, Ephrim is radiant, although his smile has taken on a brittle quality. The party has entered its sixth hour and he's wearing absurd shoes, knee-high boots with stacked heels. He doesn't need the extra height, but the supple black leather hugs his calves, emphasizing their shape. More than once, Hadrian catches himself staring.

Ephrim's eyes glitter. "Enjoying yourself?" he says, lifting two flutes of champagne from a silver tray carried by a passing waiter.

Hadrian accepts the champagne and does not drink it. "It's a lovely home," he murmurs, cradling the wineglass like a birds' egg. The crystal is impossibly fine and delicate in his hands. Frowning slightly, he stares down at the glass. It takes all his focus not to squeeze too hard and crush the damned thing in his hand.

Ephrim tuts and lifts Hadrian's jaw with a single finger. "Heads up," he hisses, arranging his features into a winning smile. "The chancellor's headed our way." His hand lingers on Hadrian's jaw for a moment. And then the chancellor is upon them and Emphrim lifts his hand from Hadrian's face. He extends it to Lutz and says something that Hadrian does not hear, because he can still feel the phantom of Ephrim's hand on his cheek, the gentle, dizzying pressure of his touch.

"Hadrian?"

He startles, and Ephrim and the Chancellor are looking at him expectantly. Swallowing, Hadrian extends his own hand, trying to look stern instead of vague. "Yes," he says. "Samothes. It's an honor to serve Him."

The Chancellor shoots him a questioning look, but there's laughter in Ephrim's eyes. Hadrian swallows and looks away, shoulders thrown back, heart hammering in his chest.


	6. gay schemes (Adaire/Hella)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "hella and adaire pulling a Scheme and being gay"

"I've done this before," Adaire whispers, smoothing Hella's collar. "Trust me."

"Of course you have," says Hella. A curl has escaped from Adaire's cap, she reaches up and pushes it back into place. Her hand lingers on Adaire's cheek, and the other woman turns her head to kiss the heel of Hella's palm. Her lips are shiny with beeswax and pigment, and her lips leave a mark on Hella's hand.

Adaire grins up at her, irrepressible, her eyes dark and luminous. "I've never had such a perfect partner before, but--"

Hella rolls her eyes and leans in to steal a kiss. She takes tremendous pleasure in ruining Adaire's makeup, smearing the red-pink stain across her lips and teeth. Adaire makes an outraged sound and kisses back, biting Hella's bottom lip in retribution. They go at it like that a while longer, and by the time they're through, their mark has vanished, and with them, Hella and Adaire's plans for the afternoon. They find their own way to fill the time.


	7. On Edge (Cass/Mako NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for mercutioes ;)

Mako's skin shows bruises so well. And Cass can't resist the temptation to leave marks on his skin, lasting reminders of their fleeting encounters. There's not enough space or privacy on the Kingdom Come to do all the things they want, so they settle for this: occasional nights together in Cass' quarters, shared showers, stolen moments in the galley or the hangar, when the rest of the crew is asleep or otherwise occupied.

Right now, they've got Mako on his back in the cockpit of the Megalophile. It's cramped, not enough room to maneuver, but it's private and it's more-or-less soundproof.

Mako is shirtless, shivering, his hands bound over his head and lashed to the base of the pilots chair. Cass has one hand down the front of Mako's pants and the other twisted in his short hair, holding him in place while they kiss his throat, their teeth scraping across his sensitive skin. Mako whines, a high needy note that catches in Cass' chest and reverberates in their groin.

"Fuck," they murmur against his skin. "You look so good like this."

Mako whimpers, arching up against Cass' hand. He's inarticulate, beyond words. Cass twists their wrist and Mako lets out a breathy little gasp, soft and sweet in their ears. They squeeze and he _keens_ , a ragged noise that's almost a sob.

Cass kisses his throat again and sucks another bruise into his flesh, right at the juncture of neck and shoulder.

Mako finds one word, and it's exactly what Cass has been waiting to hear: "p-please," he says, and he sounds like he's going to shake apart. "Please!"

"Good boy," says Cass, and they let him come.


	8. purple (Addax/Jace/Jamil, NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Kavi! Both Jace and Jamil are trans, btw!

It starts because Jace gives him _that_ look over breakfast one morning and says, "I wanna watch you get your dick sucked," and it ends because Jamil does something deft and dexterous with her tongue along the underside of Addax's cock and he comes without warning. She makes a startled noise and pulls back, laughing.

"You're so _sensitive_!" she coos, wiping her mouth on his discarded shirt. "Jace said you were, but I didn't think you'd finish so _fast_ \--"

From across the room, a whimper. Jace is sitting in an egg-shaped chair, flushed and staring, shaggy red hair falling down over his forehead. He's down to his binder and boxers, and he doesn't hesitate when Jamil crooks her finger and beckons him over.

It takes them a few minutes to arrange themselves to Jamil's satisfaction. She's between them, Jace at her back with his hands on her tits, and Addax is on his belly between her spread legs, eagerly returning the favor she paid him. He swipes his tongue along her length and she is so _wet_ , so responsive and eager against his mouth. She gasps when he takes her fully into his mouth, and Addax can hear Jace's muffled laughter against her flushed skin.

"You made it a competition," Jace murmurs, peppering her neck and shoulders with kisses. "He _hates_ losing."

Jamil moans, and her hand tangles in Addax's hair, nails pricking his scalp. Encouraged, Addax redoubles his efforts, gripping her hips while she fucks his mouth. As he licks and sucks at her, her hair and lips gradually lighten in color, going from plum to a pale lilac. When she comes, the color surges back, rapidly darkening from mauve to lavender to violet to a tyrian purple so rich and dark it's almost black.

She pulls Addax up for a kiss, then maneuvers herself out of the way, pushing Addax into Jace's lap. "Go ahead," she says, eyes bright. "I wanna see how _heroes_ fuck."


	9. gasp (Throndir/Hadrian, NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone wanted Hadrian getting choked, someone else said Throndir!

Throndir puts his hands on Hadrian's throat and presses down, gently, just enough to let the other man feel the pressure of his hands against his windpipe. Hadrian shudders and stills, eyes fluttering shut. He's got his hands around Throndir's wrists, as if to steady his hands around his neck.

"Is that okay?" Throndir says, and Hadrian nods. His expression is serene, his brow smooth and unlined. Throndir swallows and presses down a little harder. He can feel Hadrian's pulse jump under his hands. His fingernails bite down into Throndir's skin, and he lets out a breathy sigh.

"Tap out on my thigh if you need a break, okay?"

Hadrian nods again, eyes still shut, and Throndir tightens his grip, pressing down until Hadrian's eyes snap open. He gasps noiselessly and clutches at Throndir's forearms, eyes wide. Throndir can feel Hadrian's erection pressed up against his ass, can feel the shudder of his breath catching. Hadrian is struggling against him, not hard enough to actually unseat him, but hard enough to make Throndir's cock perk up with interest.

A few more moments pass like that, and Hadrian taps twice on Throndir's thigh. He relents immediately, and Hadrian sits up, wheezing, and pulls him into a kiss.

"Thank you," he says raggedly, and his trembling hands skate down Throndir's rounded body, coming to rest on his thighs. "Now let _me_ take care of _you_."


	10. soothe (Echo/Even)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for katie!

The fire's almost burned out when Grand says whatever it is that makes Echo get up and storm away, out into the dark past the protective ring of warmth and light. Grand's expression falls, and Even and Gig exchange a look. Without speaking, Even gets up and follows Echo, taking one large stride for every two of theirs.

He catches up with them on the other side of a copse of trees with silver bark and iridescent pink leaves. They're leaning up against a tree, staring fixedly up at the night sky, jaw set in a furious line. They don't acknowledge Even's approach until he's right next to them, arms wrapped around himself for warmth.

"How long are we going to be stuck down here?" they snap. "How long am I going to have to put up with _him_."

Even makes a sympathetic sound and puts a hand on Echo's forearm. Their skin is very cold; they left their jacket beside the fire and they're only wearing a thin, cropped shirt.

Echo sighs and doesn't push Even away. They turn their head towards Even, angling their mouth for a kiss, which he provides. He kisses them, soft and gentle, and Echo's hands twist in Even's shirtfront. And he isn't sure _what_ this is, but he likes to think that he can be a stabilizing influence. Or, at the very least, he likes to think that he'll be able to keep Echo from hipchecking Grand off a cliff and into a ravine.

Small goals, to start with.

"You can spend the night," Even murmurs, and they put a hand to Echo's face, running their thumb across the sharp line of their cheekbone. "I'll take care of you."

Echo kisses him again, harder. Even feels a flash of teeth and he groans against their mouth, still cupping their jaw.

"Yeah," says Echo, when they pull back. "Yeah, alright."


	11. Mad Max: Fury Road crossover (Adaire/Hella)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is it: the _most_ self-indulgent thing I've ever written.

They stop just long enough to refuel and cool the engines of their stolen war rig. The dogs are closing in, but they're almost clear of the canyonland, and once they are, they can go to ground in the salt flats. It ain't safe, but no one's going to chase them out into the wilderlands.

Adaire likes their odds. She's sitting uptop with maps spread out around her, comparing the course of the sun to the path she's marked out. They're making good progress.

Decent progress, at least.

The metal of the rig is warm under her thighs. She is, for the first time, grateful for the flimsy rag's she's been made to wear: impractical for anything but lounging, but blessedly cool in the awful heat of the desert. The sun is on her back and in her hair and she is _free_ , at least for now.

The hatch opens up and Hella clambers out onto the roof, settling herself beside her. She looks sidelong at the other woman, appreciating the hard lines of her jaw and forearms, the muscle underneath her brown skin. Her hair is cut short, dyed a brilliant red. Adaire moves over to make room, offering the other woman a fleeting smile.

"How're you holding up?" she says, and Hella grunts.

"Better, once we clear the horizon."

Adaire sets her maps aside and inches closer to the other woman, settling her head on Hella's shoulder. She is solid underneath her, a warm wall of muscle. She makes a small, satisfied sound when Adaire settles herself in the crook of her neck, looping one arm around her waist. She tips her head to the side and kisses Adaire's brow, her cracked lips warm and dry against Adaire's sweaty brow.

"It's not much further now," she says, and she holds one of her maps up for Hella to inspect. "Look. We're here, and safety is just--" her fingers dance across the distance in a trice "--over there."

Hella grunts again. She is--was--Imperator, but she left all that for Adaire's sake and for the others, now gathered below stretching out stiff limbs as the engines cool. Lem is nattering about something, straining the others' patience as he fills their ears with old-world drivel. He is a sweet boy and very beautiful, but he hasn't much of a sense of when others care about what he's saying and when they're only pretending to.

"We'll be there by sunset," says Adaire.

Hella's scowl remains fixed.

Adaire laces her fingers through Hella's and squeezes, gently. "It's only hours, now" she says, her voice low and gentle. "All thanks to you."

"We're not safe yet." Hella stares out over the horizon, brow furrowed. Adaire leans over to kiss her cheek.

"We're safer now than we've been in years," she says. " _You've_ seen to that." She leans over to kiss Hella again, and this time, Hella tips her mouth down to meet Adaire's. They kiss like that, with all the joy and relief at having survived the day, until Hadrian comes and pounds on the ceiling of the cab Hella and Adaire break apart from one another with a guilty start just as his dark head is thrust up through the hatch.

"Engines're cool," he says. "We should get a move on."

Adaire makes a curse sign at his back and Hella suppresses a smile. She raises Adaire's split knuckles to her lips and kisses them. "Not much longer now," she says, and it's a promise.

It feels like hope. Feels like redemption.


	12. sparring (aria/jacqui)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For han <3

Jacqui's not sure how it happens, but before she knows what's happening, she's on her back with Aria crouched over her. She's breathing hard and she's got her practice sword snugged up underneath Jacqui's chin, a feral grin on her lips.

"I win," she says, eyes alight. "What do I get for a prize?"

Panting, Jacqui lays still. She's heard talk of animals what play dead to lure their prey into a false sense of security--Aria isn't prey, exactly, but the way she's smiling, Jacqui wants to eat her up. Aria's on top of her, straddling Jacqui's waist, and for once she is underdressed: Jacqui's wearing combat boots and a tight-fitting tank top, Aria's in a sports bra and clinging shorts, practically naked. Her nipples are plainly visible through the thin material, tits heaving as her chest rises and falls in time with her heavy breaths.

Jacqui returns her smile. Slowly, so slowly that Aria can't read her intent in her movements, she flexes and prepares to turn the tables. Aria is wily, but she's a gloater. As soon as she thinks she's won, she sits back and fiddles with her hair, blowing kisses to an imagined audience. Jacqui wants to break her of that habit, if nothing else. The battle ain't over until your opponent's lying at your feet, completely at your mercy.

(And even then, they might have something up their sleeve. Jacqui certainly didn't plan to join up with the Chime, it more or less happened during the fiasco with the pretty reporter back in Centralia. Aria overpowered her with charm, damn her eyes.)

She plays like the fight is over, reaches up as if to kiss the other woman, and then flips them both. Suddenly, Aria's on her back, Jacqui straddling her hips, bent nearly double to kiss her gasping mouth.

"I think _I_ win," she breathes, capturing the other woman's mouth in a kiss. "And I'm taking your bra as a trophy."

Aria giggles. "You'll have to take it off me," she says, playing at fierceness. "Peel it off my limber, nubile body--"

She doesn't finish her sentence because Jacqui's mouth is on hers, kissing the air from her lungs. And the rule's not in the book, but it seems like a good enough ending for their sparring match. All's fair, after all.


	13. god hella just tell him he sucks at cooking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hella misses Ordennan cuisine <3

There's things grown on Ordenna that don't exist elsewhere. Hella knows this full well, she's native to the island, after all. But the propaganda pieces were referring to the infantry and the steel, not the herbs and spices that flavored her childhood. She knew she would miss her homeland, but she's surprised that her homesickness takes the form of humble cravings. It seems to her that she should miss the sight of sunlight on Ordennan steel, the music of a thousand boots marching in perfect synchronicity. The cuisine _should_ be an afterthought, a footnote in her own remembrances.

Instead, it dominates.

She thinks, longingly of the stews and curries she ate as a girl, meat and vegetables stewed in savory, heavily-spiced gravies. Everyone on Ordenna, from serf to vicereine, eats their fill. It's a principle of the current administration, none goes hungry so long as there's enough to go 'round. Hella grew up on these foods, and she just can't content herself with what's available in Velas. The plain food of the mainland doesn't sit well with her, and no matter how much she eats, she's left wanting more, more, more--

Sighing, she gets herself into line behind Adaire, empty plate held aloft. Throndir cooks for the group, prepares nourishing meals from the roots and tubers that can be foraged from the frost bound forest. Hella eats, tries to content herself with his cooking, and dreams of the shores of Ordenna.


	14. Adaire meets Adelaide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in swordtown!!!!!!!!!!!!!

When Hella's blade breaks, it bleeds black. The water it produces is thicker and heavier than what Adaire's used to, oily and effervescent, a bucolic town reflected on its surface. The water eats up Hadrian and Hella and Lem, and Adaire goes in after them because _someone_ needs to see to it that the three of them don't go losing their heads.

(And besides, Adaire doesn't want to be left alone with the old man and his knowing looks. Any longer in his presence, and she's going to go spilling forth all her secrets, and then where will she be?)\

Intellectually, she is unprepared for what awaits them inside Hella's sword. It is an impossible place, a city untouched by logic, its existence unfathomable. And yet, people live quite contentedly there, going about their lives as though their very existences weren't in contradiction with the natural order of things.

Emotionally, she knows what to expect: herself, Hella, Hadrian, and the archivist, stranded on some foreign shore. The four of them against the world, beaten but not broken.

She is not expecting to find a _fifth_ person in their midst.

The newcomer is a woman, dark-skinned, very beautiful. By appearances, she's approximately Adaire's age, perhaps a few years older. She's dressed in blue silk and pearls, and she cannot possibly be alive, because her chest has been cut open and her heart peeks out through her splintered ribs--

The stranger is as surprised as Adaire. Her eyes are round, brows arched, rosebud mouth a perfect circle. She blinks rapidly and looks around as though she's taken a wrong turn, and then her face twists in fury and she launches herself at Hella.

"You did this!" she screams, battering Hella's chest with her small, sharp fists. "This is your fault!"

Adaire gapes, Lem blanches, Hadrian springs into action. He loops his arms around the woman's waist and hauls her backwards off Hella, twisting her arms around to pin her wrists behind her back. She resists, every step of the way, and nearly wrenches free on more than one occasion. Whoever she is, she is stronger than she appears, at least as strong as Hadrian.

Hella stares, open-mouthed, at the stranger, and there is something in her eyes--she knows the woman from somewhere, but she does not speak a word to the others. She shuffles away, crab-wise, then heaves herself to her feet and takes off running. The strange woman lunges and jerks in Hadrian's arms, howling in rage, but she cannot break free of his hold. She fights him a moment longer, raking blunt fingernails across his face, and then she goes slack.

Lem is still staring, slack-jawed, but Adaire has recovered enough to find her words. "Who," she says, "are _you_?"

The woman glares at her, teeth bared. "I'm the queen of death," she says, snarling. "And I am going to _murder_ Hella Varal."

Adaire can't help it. She tries, for a moment, to stifle her laughter, but it's useless. She looks from the stranger to Hadrian to Lem to the beaten-down path where Hella broke through the underbrush, and she laughs. It has been a long day and all her plans have gone to dust, burnt out like filament. She left everything behind to chase after maybe-friends, and she has had enough.

She laughs and laughs and laughs and her voice echoes off the trees and into the still evening sky.


	15. Fero/Throndir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fero and Throndir!!!

They fit together. It's a strange but not unwelcome change, from his solitary lifestyle, because Fero doesn't think he's ever really _belonged_ with someone the way he does with Throndir. It's not just about physical comparability, although their bodies fit flush in a way that makes Fero gasp and cry out.

It's a meeting of the minds, a deeper understanding. They temper one another's worst impulses, heighten one another's best qualities. They're alright on their own, but as a unit, they're _unstoppable_.

The sex is good, too. That's almost as important, the way Throndir's calloused hands fir around the circumference of Fero's waist, the way Fero's hand fits slips inside Throndir. It's good, made even better by the way they work outside of the bedroom.


End file.
